Interpreting Truth

Cold misanthrope in blue socks. Saying you're different only makes it less so. Yet still you feel the tug of heavy argile on your ankles. The world clenching away from you in slow, metallic shrieks. An orphaned turbine without any fluid.

They said tomorrow, but I knew what it meant.

The angry lobster. Its claws removed. It builds like the night will. Insidiously the light hissing out of that balloon. It's deflated, but not empty.

All this nothing keeps me whole.